Free Innocent in Las Vegas by A. R. Winters, Amazon.com (firm) Page A

special mistress.”
    “What does that mean, special mistress?”
    She shrugged. “He seemed to think she was a big deal. But it wasn’t anyone here.”
    “Did he talk about anything else? Work, any hobbies?”
    “He didn’t seem to have any hobbies apart from women. And he brought in people he worked with, but they never talked business.”
    “Right.” I tried not to look disappointed. “Well, thanks. You guys’ve been a big help.”
    We said our goodbyes and I left, my heart sinking with each step. Nothing was going how I’d expected – but what had I really expected? That Neil Durant or someone else would just confess to killing Ethan and then I’d be able to wrap up my case neatly?
    I headed over to a nearby café and sat in a quiet corner with my notebook. I replayed my conversations with everyone and began making notes, hoping that things would come together at some point. I jotted down who said what and made a few notes about Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes.
    When I’d finished, I knew no more than I had when I’d first started the investigation. It was late afternoon when I put my things away with a sigh and drove back home.
    I stepped out the elevator and walked right up to my door before I noticed that something was wrong. The door was open just a crack. I’d definitely locked up before I left this morning.
    My heart began thudding loudly and I pushed the door open. Standing out in the corridor, I called out. “Hellooo? Anyone there?”
    There was no response.
    A chill ran down my spine and I tried to take deep breaths and calm down. I needed to think logically, I needed to figure out what to do. Maybe I’d just left the door open by mistake. Or maybe there was someone inside, waiting for me to step in. My hands felt like ice and I could feel the blood freeze in my veins.
    I took one cautious step inside. Things seemed to be normal. And then I turned around. The wall above my couch was freshly graffitied with red paint, and it spelled out: Die, bitch.
    I screamed and ran out of my apartment.
    I ran all the way to the elevator, took it down to the lobby, stepped out and just stood there. I was too scared to step outside and I was terrified of going back to my apartment. I was doomed to spend the rest of my life in the lobby.
    And then I remembered Stone. I fished his card out of my purse and called him.
    He answered after the first ring. “Yo.”
    “This is Tiffany,” I said, “Could you come over to my place please?”
    There was a pause. “You ok?”
    “Yes, but my apartment isn’t.”
    He didn’t say anything to that, so I gave him my address and he hung up.
    I stood in the lobby for what seemed an hour. Just when I thought I’d start introducing myself to the other residents and opening the door for them, Stone walked in. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans again, but when he stepped closer I could tell that his clothes were crisp and nice-smelling and definitely not the same ones he’d worn yesterday. But they looked exactly the same and I wondered if he had a wardrobe stacked with the same shirts and jeans.
    It was tempting to throw myself at him and indulge in a soothing hug. But Stone was clearly not the hugging type, so I kept my distance. He nodded at me and as we walked towards the elevator, I glanced down at his feet – black dress shoes and black socks. Wasn’t that what he’d worn yesterday? For all I knew, he was probably wearing the same style of underwear, too. Not that I was thinking about his underwear.
    “Thanks for getting here so fast,” I said, but the sarcasm missed him and he merely nodded.
    As we stepped out into the hallway, he noticed my wide-open door, and said, “You left it like that?”
    “Yeah. I figured anyone who walks into an apartment with ‘Die Bitch’ painted on the wall is welcome.”
    “Know everyone who lives here?”
    “Hardly. Tenants keep changing each week. A lot of the condo owners bought right before the crash and then became desperate